


A prayer whispered against her skin

by TheScarletGarden



Series: Drabbles & Short Stories [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A lot of feels, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, I'm not that cruel, Jonerys, One Shot, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, but it ends well, post-Long Night, pregnancy reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-08 20:49:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15251778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheScarletGarden/pseuds/TheScarletGarden
Summary: Jon wakes up at Riverrun after the Second War for the Dawn.Originally created for the prompt “You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you” on the Drabble Tag Challenge on Tumblr (thanks to Daenerys1417 for the tag!).





	A prayer whispered against her skin

**Author's Note:**

> The breaching of the Wall signed the beginning of the Second War for the Dawn. As soon as Jon and Daenerys received the ominous news, they decided to not waste any time and dive into the storm to fight the Night King, sending the Queen's advisors South to manage supplies and refugees. The battle was long and hard and ended up separating them. Many valiant warriors died, and the Army of the Living was soon forced to retreat as Winterfell was swarmed by the dead. Countless sacrifices were needed, but eventually, life won over death.
> 
> An overgrown drabble turned into a proper one shot. 
> 
> Betaed by the amazing LustOnMyFingers, my senpai and music twin, and Enygma0710. ♥

His head was aching like hell, like that icy fucker was hammering at it, like wights were gnawing at his brain. He hurt like he was dying. No, no, like he _wished_ he was dying, to escape the tremendous pain once and for all. He thrashed and tossed and turned, the hurt so unbearable he could barely take a breath, but then a gentle voice prodded him to open his mouth and he could feel a thick, bitter taste slide down his throat, sweet darkness finally enveloping his mind.

When he opened his eyes again, the horrible headache had subsided to a faint throb of his head. His blurred vision took a moment to adjust to the dimly lit room. He couldn't recognize where he was, and fear clawed at his heart before his gaze set on the puffy, dreary blue eyes of his sister.

"Jon!" she cried, a fresh stream of tears running down her cheek. "Oh gods, you're awake!"

At that, a small, lithe figure jumped in the bed, throwing its arms around his neck in a fierce, yet quite painful, hug. He couldn't help the whimper of pain that escaped him. Judging from it, he probably had a few broken ribs to deal with.

"Arya, let him breathe, for the Gods' sake!" Sansa reprimanded.

Slowly, he closed his arms around her small frame. They were _alive_ , both of them. The realization left him breathless, tears stinging at his eyes. If they were alive, that could only mean that they _won_.

Life won over death.

"Bran didn't make it, Jon," came the harsh reminder of the cruel reality of what the battle for life had cost them.

Jon reached out an arm to her, the other still tightly wrapped around Arya's shoulder. Sansa took his hand, following his invitation to sit on the bed with them. They hugged each other fiercely and wept together until their eyes ran dry.

He cleared his throat after a while, mustering the courage the ask a question the potential answer he dreaded more than the Long Night itself.

“Where... where is the Queen?”

The short silence that followed was enough to make his stomach, no, _his entire self_ , churn and choke in the sudden grip of anguish. Before he could say anything, though, Sansa began to explain. "She's... sleeping. Her dragons are dead, Jon. Those who were with her said she fell from the black one when he was hit. She was badly hurt. They're not sure yet if she will survive it."

“I hope she will,” Arya murmured in his neck. “We would all be dead it wasn't for her.”

“Aye,” Sansa agreed quietly. There was a moment of silence, during which he tried, and failed, to absorb and process all that had happened. His entire body still hurt, but he was determined to drag himself up to her, wherever she was. He just needed some water, first, and probably a walking cane, as his right leg was heavily bandaged and tightly bound to some wooden planks.

“It's enough of a miracle she didn't lose the child, with a fall that high,” Sansa added, barely whispering.

_What?_

“What child, Sansa?” Hadn't she said her dragons were dead?

"The Maester found out she is with child when he examined her," she said. "Three or four moon turns, he's not sure."

_Oh gods._

“Sad to think that whoever the father is, he's probably dead out there,” Sansa murmured, pensive.

He hastily yanked the bed furs away, struggling to stand up.

“Jon? What are you doing? You need to rest!”

“Where is she, Sansa?”

“Jon!”

“Where the fuck is she, Sansa?” he almost growled, his breathing ragged and his hands shaking. He could see the confusion in her eyes, but he was past the point of caring. _They don't know if she will survive. And she's growing my child in her belly._ It was the only thing he could think about at that moment.

“All right, then. Follow me.”

* * *

Even with her hair mussed, her skin paler than he ever saw it, and the large purple bruise on her cheek, she was still the most beautiful creature he ever laid his eyes on. _Oh, Dany..._

His heart suffocating in the unrelenting grip of anguish, he took a few tentative steps towards her, hands trembling, the want, no, the _need_ to touch her and feel her heartbeat and to _feel_ that she was alive, still, that there was life growing inside of her, a life they created together... _No, you can't die, Dany._

“Jon?”

“Leave me alone, Sansa,” he muttered, his voice a miserable plead. “Please.”

As soon as the door closed with a quiet _click_ behind him, he was beside her, cradling her hands in his own with gentle desperation as he wept a stream of fresh tears over her bruised cheeks. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Dany..."

He felt guilty. He knew it didn't make sense, as if he had not reached out for her they would _all_ be dead by now. Still, he couldn't help himself from thinking it was his fault that she lost so much. The majority of her armies, her bloodriders, Jorah Mormont that died to save _him,_ out of all people, from the wights. It cost her all three of her dragons... they were children to her, really, and were her pride and joy. That damned iron chair, too, was now lost to her.

She gave him _everything_.

And he wasn't there to save her.

Curling up in a ball beside her on the bed, Jon hugged her fiercely, his entire body trembling along with his helpless sobs.

He wished that he could take her place, that he could give his life yet again to save her and their unborn child. He had already died, once, and he couldn't help but feel like he was now living a borrowed life. How could he live and breathe and witness the coming of spring if she wasn't by his side? How could he find a purpose that wasn't her, now that the Long Night was over?

“Don't die, Dany,” he whispered in her ear. “Wake up. You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you.”

Hiding his face in the crook of her neck and breathing in the sweet smell of her warm skin, he cried himself to sleep.

* * *

He was roused from his slumber by the faint noises of someone rummaging around the room. Dany was still warm and inert in his arms, her breathing faint but steady. He slowly opened his eyes to see his sisters watching him with a strange mix of pity and understanding in their eyes.

“Eat something, brother,” Sansa whispered softly, while Arya set down a trail on the bedside table.

 _There's nowhere to hide, now_ , he thought dazedly as he propped himself up. _And no reason to do so either._

He forced some buttered bread and hard cheese down his throat, feeling the heavy gaze of his sisters, observing his every movement. Gulping down some water, he sighed wearily, "Out with it".

It was Arya that spoke first. “Why didn't you tell us?”

Jon just stared at her for a moment. There was a quiet empathy in his sister's gaze, a hint of concern in her grey eyes. "I don't know," he finally breathed, his shoulders sagging under the relief telling the truth brought. "We decided to keep it between ourselves, for the time being, to avoid creating problems with the Northern Lords. I was planning to tell you, but then... the Wall fell, Bran told me about my mother and it was just _too much_.” He turned to look down at Daenerys. She looked so peaceful in her sleep, her features soft and her mussed hair like a halo of molten silver on the pillows. “There wasn't time. We had to head to battle, and I thought... I thought it didn't matter, not really, because-” his voice broke a bit, “-I came back to fight them, I know that. I was needed in this battle, but... if I could save her, if I could save you both, then it made no difference if I-”

The sudden feeling of Arya's arms around his neck was enough to break him down. He felt like he never cried so much in his whole life like he had in the last two days. It was like all the pain, all the loneliness and the suffering that made up his life were waiting for this moment to pour out of his eyes and his soul, exhaustingly so.

“Don't you even _dare_ think that, brother. Ever. Do you understand me?" She was crying too, hot tears soaking his tunic, his fierce little sister that was now a seasoned warrior.

For how long they hugged like that, he couldn't tell. After what felt like hours, Sansa gently reminded him he needed to recover, too. “She would tell you the same if she could, I'd bet,” she said, nodding towards Dany's motionless figure.

“I'm not going anywhere,” he almost growled, defensive.

Her blue eyes were a gentle caress on his own, soft with understanding. “I know. I will bring your food here, and send the Maester to visit you both in a few hours. Sleep now, brother.”

* * *

Every night was a prayer whispered against her skin. She had tremors, at times, and he would do what he could to make the nightmares go away. He had them too, the images of death relentlessly haunting his dreams.

Jon never left her side, watching over her as she was visited by the Maester, as she slept peacefully, as she trembled and moaned in her night terrors, constantly hoping for her beautiful violet eyes to open again.

His sisters were a welcome respite in those days, checking on them both, keeping his mind away from the nightmares for at least a little bit. He told them everything that happened since he landed on the shores of Dragonstone, striving to focus on the good memories, on those moments where hope had felt stronger than despair. But every time he glanced to her sleeping form, the sweet memories left a sour taste in their wake.

* * *

The Night King loomed over him, ready to lunge his icy weapon against him as he tried, with all his strength, to kill him for good. The inhuman cold gripped his body like a vise, his muscles still working by force of sheer will alone. Everything was death and gore around him, countless corpses of allies, friends, family. Even as they tried to burn them immediately as they fell, many still rose again, bloody carnage turning black in their mortal wounds, the stench of rot filling his lungs at every intake of frozen air.

A deafening screech pierced the silence. Drogon's immense body crashing on the ice, Daenerys' screams of terror silencing under his weight.

"Jon..." she whispered. Turning to where her voice had come from, he saw her standing just behind him, one arm raised to grasp his own. There was frost on her moonlight skin, a million cuts on her body dripping thick black blood, and her eyes the pale blue of death. _Gods_ , her eyes...

Jon's eyelids fluttered open, his vision slowly adjusting to the dim light of the room, the golden light of the hearth casting dancing shadows on the walls. Cold sweat covered his brow, his breathing ragged and forced. He turned to his side, clutching Dany's warm body close to him, her sweet smell comforting him. She trembled slightly in her sleep, and he couldn't help but hold her tighter, peppering soft kisses on her neck until the tremors subsided. It was happening more frequently lately, and it both worried him and filled him with hope.

“Do you see them too, Dany?” he whispered. “I wonder if we'll see them forever.”

He could see her eyes move rapidly under her eyelids, her breath slightly picking up its pace. Gently, he caressed a few tendrils of hair away from her beautiful face. The bruises were fading ever so slowly, a sickly yellow stain where the purple had once been. “I don't know if we'll ever forget them, love. But you need to wake up, so I can give you new memories to fight the nightmares with. Happy memories, Dany. I promise you.”

She shuddered in his hold, a muffled moan of anguish sliding through her lips. “No no no no, it's not real. We won, Dany. We survived... we're _alive_. As is our child,” he clutched the small swell of her stomach, caressing her skin. “You'll wake up, and I will be here, right by your side. We will _heal_ , Dany. We'll see our child be born and grow up, love. You will be happy,” he took a deep breath to steady his faltering voice, “I swear I will make you happy.”

Dany's breathing seemed to calm down a bit, and he pressed on, hoping with all his heart that she could hear him, somehow. “I'll marry you, Dany, if you'll have me. We'll see the spring. We will rebuild Winterfell, and I will show you how beautiful it is during the summer. I don't know if we can salvage the Red Keep, my love,” he chuckled a bit under his breath, feeling his eyes getting watery again, “but I will follow you to the ends of the world, wherever you want to be. I will paint all the doors red for you, Dany.”

He shuddered, a fresh wave of despair and regret taking upon him. He wanted that so much it hurt just to think about it. Jon never dared to _really_ want anything for himself, not until he met her. He needed her desperately, his nightmares of a life without Dany even more graphic than those where he was killed by the Night King in a hundred different ways. Clutching her tightly, he pressed on, the bright dream of what their life together could be soothing his soul like a balm. He told her of the children they will have, of the things they'll see in their travels, of the home he would build for her. He told her she could be a Queen, or they could just disappear for a while, indulging in their secretly shared dream of just being normal, for once, living a simple life. He confessed her he liked this second option best but promised he would give her every throne in the world, if only she asked. He drifted in and out of sleep, patches of his dream whispered in her ear in his moments of consciousness.

“I will love you forever, Dany. I will love you still when we will be all grey and wrinkled. But you need to wake up, love,” he whispered his prayer over and over, until sweet nothingness took him again, this time in a sleep blessed without dreams.

* * *

He woke up to the faint sensation of soft fingers caressing his beard. He opened his eyes slowly, still sleepy, only to see bright violet eyes staring up at him, glassy with tears and so much affection it nearly choked him. Her cheeks were a bit hollow and her skin still looked ghostly pale, but there was a timid smile dancing on her lips. “Good morning, Jon,” she whispered, her voice hoarse with disuse, stroking his cheek lovingly.

“I must be dreaming...” He feared his heart would burst out of his ribcage, the relief too sudden and intense. “Pinch me?”

Dany chuckled, the sound more beautiful than any song he ever heard. She pinched him, hard on the cheek. “Ouch.”

She scooted closer to him, a bit forcefully, wincing slightly. Still, her smile was bright, her eyes glimmered in the faint golden light of the room, and she was very much _awake_. "Oh, Dany..." he breathed as he clutched her tightly, kissing her chapped lips like they were an oasis and he a man lost in the desert. He cradled her face, hands trembling, almost unable to believe his prayers had been answered. "Gods, you're awake..."

“I am,” she nodded. “You were here, Jon. I knew you were here.”

“Did you?”

“I could hear you. Your voice was so distant and faint, at first... and then clearer, and closer. I could feel your touch.” Dany nodded, lips trembling. “I can't believe you were right...” She brushed a hand on her cheek to get rid of the tears that were escaping her eyes.

He kissed her again, softly. “I never believed you were cursed, love.”

“I want to hear the rest of the story, Jon.” She took his hand, intertwining her fingers with his, the sensation of her touch sending waves of relief throughout his body. “I want you to tell me the future, my love.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Don't be a stranger, leave a comment! ;)


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